my baby π
Amma held her grandson's photograph, tears streaming down her weathered face. At seventy-three, she'd finally joined the social network her daughter created. The image showed little Arjun clutching her handwritten Tamil poetry collection, the one she'd spent decades preserving from her grandmother's faded manuscripts. She'd felt scared posting something so personal, worried about sharing their heritage online. Yet the overwhelmingly brave responsesβfriends praising the ancient versesβchanged everything. Now donations poured in, funding her poetry documentation project. Her trembling fingers typed beneath the photo: "My baby." Not just Arjun, but their entire legacy, cradled safely between generations, kept alive through unexpected kindness.
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